


Lady Liberty Lied

by beedekka



Category: British Comedian RPF, Grand Theft Auto IV, Grand Theft Auto IV: The Lost and Damned, Grand Theft Auto: Episodes from Liberty City
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/pseuds/beedekka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frankie Boyle fled to Liberty City for a new beginning, something better... but Lady Liberty lied.  Between the crooked clubs and bent bikers, he finds himself dragged back into a life he thought he'd left behind.  Meanwhile, Johnny Klebitz has problems of his own: he may have just met an interesting new flame, but with the cops and the Angels of Death on his tail, shit just got real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this isn't a crossover, because Frankie _is_ in the game, but if you haven't played GTA IV and are wondering if BritCom knowledge of him is enough: it really is! Rockstar adding him to GTA is just giving him a beautifully ready-made AU, I guess. Similarly, if you're a GTA fan and you don't really know much about Frankie Boyle outside of the game, no problem :o)
> 
> The parts alternate between Johnny's POV following the events of Part 1, and Frankie's in the lead-up to it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. The author claims no creative ownership over the characters, will make no money from this story, and means no offence by it.

Johnny hammered on the door with all the strength he could manage and hoped that Frankie answered before anyone else paid too much attention to him. He looked behind him and winced at the drops of blood he had trailed from the grass onto the path. At least it was raining. He couldn’t decide whether the sirens were getting louder or not, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be outside for much longer like this.

“It’s the fuckin’ middle of the day – you gotta be home,” he growled in desperation, his racing mind starting to weigh up how difficult it would be to break in. In his current state and without a weapon…? “ _Fuck!_ ” he swore under his breath.

His arm was going numb, and he was starting to feel as cold as the rain running down his face, but he grit his teeth and rammed his good shoulder against the door. It didn’t give a millimetre, and the impact reverberated back through his body in a painful wave. 

“Fuck!” he swore again, a mix of agony and frustration twisting his frame into a crouch on the step. He wanted to get himself around the side of the block and work out which of the windows were Frankie’s, but his legs were telling him he wasn’t going anywhere, and the police sirens in his head really did sound louder now.

_Fuck Billy, fuck the Angels of Death, and fuck everyone else that fuckin’ got me here!_ he screamed internally. It wasn’t worth making it out of that crash if the cops were just going to take him in the doorway of this pisshole. He leant heavily against the metal security grid and swallowed back the nausea that was rising in his throat. Maybe this was it… maybe this time he was really lost.

“ _Fff…uhhh…_ ” Johnny heard his own voice groaning before he was properly aware of making the sound, and he couldn’t work out why the falling feeling he had wasn’t taking him to the ground. Then another voice suddenly joined his, swearing profusely, and he realised he was being dragged backwards into the hallway. It dawned on him that Frankie was there after all, and relief flooded his veins, giving him the extra push to scramble his legs out of the way of the door and kick it shut behind them. 

“About fuckin’ time…” Johnny choked out, as Frankie unhooked his arm from around his chest and let him drop on his back between his legs, before stepping over him and pulling across the three heavy bolts on the back of the door. Only then did Frankie lower the gun in his other hand, and Johnny wondered how close he’d come to having the trigger pulled on him when Frankie opened up.

He stared up at the stained hallway ceiling and fought the urge to laugh – it was only two days since the last time he’d been looking up at one of Frankie’s ceilings like this, and his body had felt considerably fucking better then!

He shut his eyes as another wave of pain and nausea ran through him, and let out a gasp as Frankie’s fingers gripped his jaw and shook him until he looked up and focused on his face.

“Don’t pass out on me!” Frankie ordered. “Is anyone gonna be at this door in a minute, fucking shooting the pair of us, because I’m just gonna fucking shoot you _now_ if they are!?”

“No,” Johnny managed. “They’d be here by now if they knew where I was.”

“No cops? No Deadbeats? No fucking… singing telegrams?”

“The fuck?”

“That’s what I thought when I opened up and you were fucking dying on my doorstep. Are you hit anywhere apart from here?” Frankie clamped his hand around Johnny’s upper arm and sparks darted across his vision for a second.

“Slammed my ribs when I crashed the cop car…”

“A fucking cop car? Jesus Christ, Johnny! This just gets better and better. You told me it was your fucking boss who’s the nutcase.”

“He’s not my boss,” Johnny gritted out.

“And I’m not your anything, but you’ve still ended up here somehow!” Frankie’s voice was harsh, but Johnny could see that his expression was only half-heartedly matching his tone and his brows were knitted in concern.

“It all went down in Varsity Heights. Yours was the first place I thought of…” _The first safe place._ “I wasn’t really thinkin’ straight.”

Frankie opened his mouth to say something, then clearly thought better of it and closed it again. Then he leant down and reached around Johnny's chest. “I’m going to pull you up. Don’t puke on me,” he warned quietly, and hauled him up before Johnny had the chance to protest.

“A fucking cop car?” Frankie repeated in disbelief as he backed down the hallway towards the living room. “Out of the two of us, you’ve got to be the bigger fucking joker.”

 

***


	2. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight days earlier...

Back in the cramped dressing room after the late set, Frankie unbuttoned his suit jacket and glanced at his watch. It was too late for half the things he wanted to do and too early for the rest, and he knew he was probably just going to end up walking home via the pizza dive and dodging drunks and joyriders all the way up Frankfort Avenue.

He squinted at his reflection in the one shard of broken mirror that still clung to the wall and ran the heel of his hand over the rough stubble on his chin. He was due a shave, but whether he could be arsed to actually do it in the morning remained to be seen. To be fair, he liked the look and he didn’t really give a shit if it earned him the distaste of the polyester-clad bankers and their paid-for wives who sat on the front tables in the club and sidestepped around him in the street; he usually didn’t look twice at them either.

The air in the club was always hot and wet; condensation collected on the walls and a whole night’s work left him feeling oxygen-starved and looking forward to escaping out into the streets, so he wasted no more time in getting on his way. Checking his pockets, he located his lighter, swiped a pack of cigarettes Katt had left on the table and made his way through the building to the main doors. 

He stepped outside and looked up and down the street as he lit up. There were still a fair number of people walking around, making their way across from the bars and restaurants to the clubs. He briefly considered joining them; his stage clothes were good enough for Hercules or Maisonette 9, and the Split Sides acts were always welcome there thanks to some kind of reciprocal comping arrangement the management had with Tony Prince. Originally, he supposed, it was meant to foster the loyalty of a particular type of clientele across all the venues near by, but he doubted that he was quite the catch they were looking for. Still, his comp card was there for the using, and Hercules was an easy pick up joint – there had been plenty of nights he’d appreciated having that little piece of plastic.

He watched the back of a guy in a pair of unfeasibly tight jeans, walking across the road, and wondered what it would be like to unwrap that. He laughed to himself, sending plumes of smoke away into the air – ten years ago he’d have had a chance… maybe. Then again, even the beautiful people in Liberty City were generally tarnished enough that you could stand more of a chance than you thought, especially if your face was on a billboard under pretty lights. He glanced ruefully at the poster behind him on the door. Hell, he looked better than Gervais, at least, _and_ he had more stars beside his press quotes than that fat fuck. 

He exhaled, wreathing himself in smoke again, and casually re-located the guy in the jeans across the street. He’d had two decent shows tonight; was getting laid going to top it off nicely, or was he better off with a pizza and a porno? His denim boy turned the corner and Frankie looked away. It was a move that finally gave him the opportunity to notice that _he_ was being watched.

_Oh fuck._ He could do with not being turned over right outside his own workplace! And was that a _Lost_ jacket the bruiser was wearing? _Even fucking better._

Thankful that he hadn’t got away from the club yet, Frankie threw down his cigarette and avoided making eye contact with the biker as he turned quickly on his heel, going back through the door of the Split Sides.

_Wonderful_ , he thought, heading down the short corridor beyond the ticket booth and pushing through the heavy double doors that led to the bar. 

Now the punters had left, the girls were cleaning and bottling up, and the doormen drinking at a table in the corner barely glanced at him as he walked through the room and hopped up onto the stage. Frankie hoped that was an indication of how familiar they were with him, rather than one of how little attention they paid to people coming in after hours.

Three steps through the thick darkness beyond the curtains at the side of the stage took him to the fire exit out into the back corridor and the dressing rooms. He strode past them and made straight for the emergency door at the end, which in turn let him out into the cool air of the back alley, with its collection of bins, rats and noisy aircon outlets.

_Should’ve just taken the back way in the first place_ , he thought to himself, neatly summing up the story of his life. He’d have been half way home by now… He deliberately cut through in the opposite direction to Jade Street and grabbed the next empty cab that came along. Now it would have to be a night of porn and a greasy sandwich from the all night Burger Shot on Topaz, but that was probably a good thing, all in all.

 

***

 

Johnny determined to give it the time it took to smoke one more cigarette before he gave up waiting outside the club and accepted that Frankie Boyle must have changed his mind about leaving whatever lock-in they were having there. He was half tempted just to walk inside himself and see how far he got. The club must have got about a dozen doors he _could_ get in through, especially around the back… Breaking and entering was probably going to put a bit of a downer on the whole ‘first impression’ thing, however. Maybe he’d just come back and catch another show.

Not _maybe_... Johnny already knew he was going to be back here before the week was out.

 

***


	3. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, the story picks up Johnny's POV again, after the events of Part 1.

Johnny blinked hard a few times as he suddenly came to his senses. “Fuckin’ shit.”

“Same to you, too,” Frankie laughed quietly.

Johnny turned his head and looked around, locating himself fully clothed and flat on his back on Frankie’s bed. “You got me in bed?”

_Again._

“You were passing out all over the place – I wasn’t going to leave your arse dumped on the floor.”

“It’s how I usually sleep,” Johnny replied, deadpan. Then he rolled over and gingerly pushed up on his good side to get himself sitting back on the pillows. It put him next to Frankie, who was already leaning against the headboard, arms and legs loosely crossed. 

“I washed that out with tap water and hand soap,” Frankie said, gesturing at Johnny’s arm, which had a wad of cotton bound around it with a dark bandana. “There’s nothing in it; just a graze where the bullet’s gone past, but you’re gonna have to go to a walk-in centre or something and get it properly done up… Fuck knows what kind of shit an open wound could have picked up around here, and I don’t know how much blood you’re missing from before you even got to me.”

Johnny moved his shoulder experimentally and grunted. It was stiff and the pain was still sharp, but it didn’t feel any different to when he’d got clipped before. “I thought they got me a lot worse,” he admitted. “Where’s my jacket?”

“It’s in the bathroom. It was smearing blood everywhere until I showered it off. You’ve got some extra ventilation for your left shoulder now,” Frankie added. “You’re lucky the police can’t shoot for shit here.”

“I don’t feel lucky. I had to toss my piece and my cell, and the bike’s probably on the other side of the city bein’ sprayed a different colour by now.” Johnny shifted to feel in his jeans pocket and winced as his bruised ribs made themselves known. “You got any painkillers?” he asked, pulling out a roll of bills and his keys. 

“No, I’ve not.” Frankie frowned. “Can get some easy enough... There’s a pharmacy at the Hospital Center, or places to score, if that’s what you meant.”

“I’d settle for some liquor, but you ain’t gonna have that here, either, are you?”

Frankie shook his head. “You picked the wrong place to collapse at. There’s only one vice I’m committed to these days, and it’s not any use in this situation.”

“No, I suppose not. But _that’s_ something,” Johnny remarked, holding the keys up in front of him. “I still got the back keys to Pretty Boy’s place on this ring. If I go down there after hours I can probably boost a ride and a decent piece, and they’ll never report it.”

“Pretty Boy?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking of.” Johnny caught Frankie’s eye and chuckled. “And you’re fully conversant with the concept of irony, I know. The important thing is that if I turn his place over I’ll be all set again.” 

“You’ve been hazing in and out on me for the last half hour, and now you’re planning your next crime… That’s a hardcore attitude to recuperation, I’ll give you that,” Frankie told him.

“Needs must,” Johnny replied, dropping the keys onto his lap. “Besides, I ain’t in so much pain now; I’m under control. You fixed me up good,” he added, giving Frankie a reassuring look.

“Yeah…” Frankie looked less reassured about his medical handiwork. 

“Shit, Billy’s probably tryin’ to get hold of me right now, and going crazy that I’m not taking his calls. What time is it?”

“Around four. He’s never going to find you here… _Is he?_ ”

“Nah, not unless he breaks down every door in Liberty. I don’t give my brothers any account of what I do outside the chapter; they’d never know I met you, or even went to the club on my own.”

Frankie smiled thinly. “I didn’t expect otherwise, unless sucking cock has suddenly become an acceptable coda to a hard day’s drug pushing and intimidation.”

Johnny flashed him a grimace. “I don’t deal drugs. The brothers think I see a girl called Ashley. She’s… she’s always been more like a sister to me, but it doesn’t hurt to let ‘em assume. Whose cock I suck is not general information.” 

Frankie didn’t offer any response to that, so Johnny tilted his head back and closed his eyes again, leaving them sitting together in silence. It dragged on, and eventually he felt Frankie lean over, then carefully get up, his heat and weight leaving the mattress. Johnny didn’t say anything, although part of him twinged at the loss; it’d been strangely comforting to realise that Frankie had been by him all the while he was out of it. 

He listened to Frankie start to move away, but then he seemed to stop and turn back, and Johnny guessed he was looking down at him. He wondered what was going through the other man’s mind. They’d known each other… what? A week, before Johnny had shown up half-senseless at Frankie’s door to be let in and looked out for with hardly a question asked? He cursed himself silently; perhaps he shouldn’t have sounded so flippant about hiding his sexuality, given that he’d been quick enough to seek bloody refuge with Frankie on the strength of fucking him two days earlier.

There was a metallic clicking sound, and Johnny realised Frankie had picked up the keys off his lap. He briefly wondered what he was going to do with them, but the sound of them being softly placed on the bedside table answered his question. He was definitely expecting him to walk away then, but still no footsteps came, and instead he felt Frankie’s fingertips brush against his forehead for a split-second.

“Stupid fucking bastard,” he heard Frankie whisper under his breath, and even without being able to see his expression, Johnny was pretty sure that he wasn’t talking about him. 

 

***


	4. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this part, we're back with Frankie at Split Sides, and Johnny's making good on his plan of catching another show.

The next time Frankie saw the biker from outside the club, he wasn’t so outside the club any more. _That’s got to be a fucking coincidence_ , he told himself as he forced his eyes to move on to the next punter, sweeping the audience for someone to pick on for his Binco line. He glanced back as soon as he’d delivered it, matching a laugh to the face, then started listening out for it. The guy certainly reacted in all the right places. Maybe he was judging the book by the cover; maybe the biker was just a comedy fan who happened to be hanging around afterwards the other night? Hanging around in an intimidating jacket, with an intimidating face…

The set continued and Frankie caught himself drifting back to look at him again. He decided that under the club lights he didn’t so much look intimidating as intense. Without the scars and the broken nose, he would look perfectly innocuous – handsome even. Actually, he was pretty striking now. Frankie had sought out his share of rough trade in the past; he could certainly see the attraction. _Am I really going there? Concentrate!_ he chided himself. He deliberately looked anywhere but directly at the guy for the rest of the segment, but he was constantly aware of the eyes upon him in his peripheral vision; they weren’t always on his face, either. _Jesus,_ was it that or the humid room making his skin flush? _Okay…_ he determined. After safely introducing the first act and passing the mic, Frankie ensured he made definite, hard eye-contact with the biker as he walked off. _Yeah, I’m watching you too._

Second set, and they repeated their erratic eye-contact routine. Frankie marvelled at just how fast and how thoroughly this man had grabbed his attention; it was true that he did most of these Split Sides gigs on autopilot, but was this really all it took to get him to sit up and pay attention to his audience?

From his angle up on the stage, Frankie could see that the biker was resting one hand casually on his firm, denimed thigh, and a tiny flex of his fingers was enough to direct Frankie’s eyes to the _serious_ heat he looked to be packing underneath that fly. He bet it wasn’t the only thing he was packing, and thought about the gun tucked under the back of _his_ jacket. In Liberty City, everyone carried, and everyone felt invincible. Perhaps that was why Frankie suddenly decided to speak to his admirer. 

“So, you look like you’ve recently escaped from somewhere. What’s your story, buddy?” Frankie fixed the biker with an expectant stare.

“No story.”

“If you think that’s gonna make me move along, you’re wrong. What’s your name, no story?”

“Johnny.”

“Johnny?” _Like 'Frankie and Johnny'_ , his mind supplied. _Not very auspicious._ “Well, looking at you I wouldn’t have guessed you’d go by a name that is essentially a synonym for ‘rubber boner killer’, but whatever works for you.”

“I’m told I have the opposite effect,” Johnny replied.

 _Really._ “I’m not gonna question that, ‘cause you look like a guy who could chase me down and crush my head to a pulp,” Frankie said. “Which is also why I think the little fella sitting next to you has shat himself. Is that right, my friend?” Frankie turned his attention to the man along from Johnny, neatly moving on with his act, but in his head he was intrigued. It took balls to talk back to him when he was on stage, he knew, let alone actually make a joke that worked.

 

*** 

 

Later, when the knock on his dressing room door came, Frankie knew it would be him.

“Come in,” he answered without turning around.

“Er, hi, I’m…”

“Lost?” Frankie asked.

There was a pause. “You could say that.”

Frankie did turn then, meeting the biker’s eyes. “I just _did_.”

The man shifted uneasily under his pointed gaze, and Frankie started to wonder if maybe he didn’t have the personality to back up that jacket after all. If that was the case, then the attitude he was giving out was overkill. _Come on,_ he silently dared. “Why did you come back here, Johnny?” he enquired, his voice low and dark as Glasgow toffee. “Why are you here eye-fucking me, every set I do?” 

He thought he saw something spark on the other man’s face at that, so he pushed it a little more. “Are you only here to look, or…”

Frankie didn’t get any further, because suddenly the biker had him pressed back against the damp wall of the dressing room, urgent fingers pulling his belt open and rough lips on his neck. He could only gasp in surprise and bring his hands up to grip Johnny’s shoulders in response, guiding him in the direction he was going anyway – straight down on him.

When Johnny took him in his mouth, Frankie let out a drawn out expletive. It wasn’t gentle by any stretch of the imagination, but it was damn good. Frankie watched him as he sucked, enjoying the view of his cock sliding in and out and Johnny’s brow furrowing with concentration. When he came he didn’t warn him, but Johnny swallowed like he’d expected to, and sat back on his heels with a look on his face like he’d just taken a hit. Frankie pulled him up and palmed his hard-on through his jeans, popping the buttons one-handed because it was impressive, then he stroked Johnny hard until he was groaning and coming all over his hand, favour returned.

They stared at each other for a moment, breathing hard in the tiny dressing room while Frankie wiped his hands on a towel that belonged to Ricky Gervais.

“That was… somehow totally expected,” he commented.

“Next time, remind me to ask you out for dinner or something beforehand,” Johnny told him. “Maybe we could actually talk to each other…?”

_That didn’t sound like a terrible idea._

 

***


	5. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Johnny's POV in Frankie's apartment, sometime after Frankie left him alone on the bed.

Stretching carefully, Johnny tested how much he could move around before his ribs felt like knives. Satisfied that getting up wasn’t going to cripple him, he quit the bed and walked over to look out of the window. Frankie had left the room and – he assumed – the apartment after that strange little moment of… apparent self-doubt? _“Stupid fucking bastard”?_ Johnny frowned. It was obvious that Frankie had thought he was asleep when he spoke, and Johnny almost wished he _had_ been; he would prefer to be able to pretend that Frankie’s help, and whatever relationship they were in the process of establishing, was catchless – that Frankie wasn’t questioning himself over getting involved with him. He obviously _was_ though, and it set an uneasy chill somewhere in Johnny’s guts.

A move into the living room confirmed that the apartment was empty, the kitchenette visibly deserted through the door, and Johnny took the opportunity to look around a little. A tiny part of his mind was telling him to just leave while he had the chance, but a bigger part of him was certain that Frankie wasn’t out cluing-in the cops to the address or anything like that. He picked up a cigarette packet from the table and, finding it empty, flicked it away again. There was his explanation, Johnny bet. He’d assumed the ‘only vice’ Frankie had jokingly attributed to himself was sex, but he’d been taking the smoking for granted. He was probably out getting cigarettes and the late edition, or whatever else it was that comedians needed to keep them going.

He helped himself to a glass of tap water that tasted like rats had pissed in the pipes, but was still better than what came out of the faucets in the clubhouse. Then he sat down on the couch and looked at the walls. He hadn’t really seen much of Frankie’s apartment when they’d come in two nights ago, content to drag and be dragged through the rooms and onto the bed with his eyes preoccupied by the man in front of him. Now he was paying attention he realised that the décor was oddly sparse for a guy who must earn reasonable money on stage. His eyes fell upon a small framed picture on top of the television, and he wondered if Frankie just sent everything he made back to Glasgow, for the people in the photo. There were some press clippings pinned on a board by the door – reviews, Johnny guessed without going over to look, and a basic set of furniture and appliances. Beyond that, the place could’ve been anyone’s… _But who was he to judge?_ He lived from mattress to mattress in a squat.

 

***

 

When Frankie came back he took a crumpled paper bag from inside his jacket and tossed it on the table. Johnny looked at him questioningly. “I got a ‘scrip filled for painkillers,” Frankie said. “I can wince and say ‘ah’ in all the right places when doctors examine my ‘excruciating bad back’.”

That wasn’t true, Johnny thought. Not in the short time he’d been gone. He leant over and swiped up the bag, peering inside, and sucked in through his teeth. “These are the good stuff. Didn’t think it was easy to get.”

Frankie shrugged. “Gift horse. Mouth. Just take ‘em.” Johnny looked at him again, expression suddenly shifting. “You’re welcome, by the way,” Frankie prompted.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to…” _…score for me_. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Forget about it. Didn’t like the thought of you in pain.”

Johnny wanted to ask him why, and he fleetingly wondered if the gaps in his memory of the last couple of hours were hiding something from him. “I guess I was pretty bad earlier,” he tried.

Frankie made a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’ve heard a lot of people scream in agony, but when you’re _speechless_ with it…”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise – how are you supposed to act when you’ve crawled out of a car wreck with a gunshot to your arm? It just freaked me out for a minute or two, before I realised you were going to be okay.” 

Frankie sat down heavily on the couch next to Johnny and pulled out his lighter, giving it a brief shake, and that seemed to signal the end of the conversation. Lighting up a cigarette from a virgin pack, he leant back to blow a stream of smoke towards the ceiling and offered one to Johnny, who waved his hand ‘no thanks’ and popped two of the tablets instead, wincing at the taste as he chewed them up.

“What time do we need to go over to this Pretty Boy’s place tonight?” Frankie asked after a while. 

“We?” 

“Yep.”

Johnny didn’t push at Frankie’s assumption any further. Realistically, they both knew it was safer as a two-man job, especially with an injury factored in. “After 2am. Doesn’t matter when after, as long as we’re out before people going to early shifts start cluttering up the streets again.”

Frankie looked at his watch, then moved the ashtray from its position on the arm of the couch to the table so he could slouch better.

“Are you working tonight?” Johnny asked.

“Ricky gets Thursdays. Thursdays and Sundays, so it isn’t rowdy and he doesn’t have to deal with any shit.”

Johnny chuckled. “You don’t have a high opinion of him, do you?”

“Not really.” Frankie turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Which probably means you find him the funniest thing since Jackie Mason.”

“Nah, you know the comedian I’d rather see.”

“Yeah, flattery will get you everywhere,” Frankie replied, leaning forward to stub out the spent cigarette. As he sat back, Johnny impulsively caught him by the arm and pulled him round to press their lips together.

“Hey,” Frankie murmured, but he didn’t pull away.

“Just kiss me for a minute,” Johnny breathed, voice low. _Remind us both what got us here in the first place_. 

 

***


	6. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Frankie, waiting for Johnny to call him after the fumble in the dressing room at Split Sides.

Frankie had exchanged phone numbers with Johnny after that night at Split Sides, and over the next few days he found himself wondering more than once whether his would actually get used. Frankie never called guys back – always waited for them to make the running, and if they didn’t contact him within a week or so he deleted their number and forgot about them. He reckoned it was 50/50 on ever hearing from the biker again; he seemed pretty interested at the club, but maybe he’d already got what he wanted? Sometimes giving someone your number was just something you did, like giving out a business card that you knew was getting tossed as soon as the recipient got around the corner. Not that Frankie routinely got _sucked off_ by potential business associates…

The Liberty City circuit was notorious for the casting couch and clubs where ‘pay to play’ meant ‘lay to play’, but he’d never been part of that himself. Too old by the time he got here, he supposed, and _never_ pretty enough, even when he first started back in the UK. He felt sorry for the women, though, and those fresh-faced boys with the long fringes and bright t-shirts who would never get off an open mic without opening something else. He’d gone a long way on good writing and a bad shave, Frankie sometimes joked to himself.

When Johnny did call, it couldn’t have been at a better time. Frankie was walking through Middle Park, looking for somewhere to sit down with his Bean Machine bratte and go through the classifieds.

_//You busy right now? You wanna meet?//_

“I’m in Middle Park – find me.”

_//Are you cruising?//_

“Nope, I’m buying an office chair.”

_//What?//_

“I’m on the west side of the lake, about to sit down near some arsehole juggling fire.”

_//click//_

Five minutes later, Frankie heard the rough roar of a bike engine and smiled. Apparently, Johnny was keen to get there. He recognised Frankie in sunglasses and street-clothes, as well, stopping right by him and sitting back on his Hexer like he’d just finished fucking it.

“Nice bike,” Frankie commented.

“Thanks.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you again.”

Johnny looked momentarily perturbed. “Really?”

Frankie shrugged. “Thought whatever itch you had for me might have been scratched enough the other night; the guy I am on stage, and in that club… that’s who you were interested in, right? You got him. Out here I’m just Joe Blow.”

“I’m still interested,” Johnny said.

 

***

 

A little later, when they’d moved on to a bar, Johnny rolled his sleeves up to play pool and Frankie noticed that he rolled up bloodstains along with the material.

 _Wait. Was this…?_ “Am I your alibi for something?” he asked, casually.

Johnny looked up sharply. “You’re second-guessing my motives here. You’re not an alibi. I did have a run-in with some people this morning, but that’s everyday shit for me. And they aren’t gonna report it. Even if they did, I don’t need to drag you into my business.” He gave Frankie a hard stare. “Are we clear on that?”

“Hey!” Frankie cautioned him. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not some dickhead you can demand clarity from.”

There was an awkward pause in which Johnny picked up his drink and angrily swallowed most of it in one go, seemingly trying to decide what to say next.

Frankie spoke instead. “I asked because if I was your cover, I’d want to know. I’m not judging what you do, and frankly… I’m in _no_ position to do so. But if we’re going to see each other then we’ve got to be upfront with it. Keeping stuff to yourself doesn’t protect anyone from anything – it just gives you one less ‘get out of jail’ card in your deck.”

“Frankie…”

“Yeah?” _That’s the first time you’ve used my name._

“I wanna get to know you. I just don’t know you _yet_. It’s hard to know what to say – how much to say – before I’ll just make you walk away. I don’t… I don’t want this to be fucked before it’s even started, okay.”

Frankie gave a short laugh. “Now who’s second-guessing?” He gave Johnny credit for honesty, though. He was obviously trying to give the upfront response he was asking him for. “Let’s agree that neither of us is easily spooked, and neither of us is squeaky clean, and we’ll save a lot of pussyfooting around and bullshit by doing it.”

“Deal,” Johnny replied quickly, then downed the final slug of his whiskey like he was relieved.

“Do you want another of those?” Frankie indicated the glass.

“Yes, are you sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m fine; I don’t drink, remember.”

“How much of what you say on stage is true?” Johnny asked, expression intrigued.

“That is, and I have got kids, and the stuff about my old work… The sex stuff, not so much; not how I tell it there, anyway.”

“You always been gay, then? Even though you were married?”

Frankie shook his head. “People’d probably say I was bi, looking at my history.”

“And you’d say?”

“They’re right, I suppose, though I don’t really look at women these days. What about you?”

Johnny grinned. “You’ve seen my bike – no pussy pad.”

“This is gonna be a bad segue from ‘pussy’, but do you want to get something to eat as well?” Frankie asked. “All I’ve had today is that terrible coffee.”

“Sure,” said Johnny. “Drink, finish the pool, then we’ll go and get a steak or something. That’s dangerously close to a proper date.”

“As opposed to our last effort?” Frankie teased. He was starting to relax now Johnny seemed to have. That initial bump over the non-alibi had got them past the awkwardness of who they both were, and he hoped that the rest of the evening was going to keep getting better; he quite fancied a repeat performance with Johnny’s tongue, hands, and his hard, slick cock.

 

***


	7. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny's POV last left off kissing Frankie on the sofa - what next?

When they broke the kiss, Johnny sat back and licked his lips. That felt damn good; either that or he was coming up on the Roxies faster than he thought. “Nice…” he murmured.

Frankie licked his own lips and grimaced, reaching for his cigarettes again.

“You taste it on me?”

“Yeah, bitter little fuckers.”

“I will have a smoke this time, if you’re still offering,” Johnny said. “And I need to ask you something.”

Frankie passed him the pack and waited expectantly while he lit one.

“We’ve fucked, right? And we’ve talked shit to each other, bought each other dinner; you’ve tied up my bleeding fuckin’ arm while I was passed out, you’ve met my bike…”

“This is all true,” Frankie replied, amused.

“I’m actually getting to a serious point here, believe it or not,” Johnny continued, touching his palm to Frankie’s leg. “We’ve done some pretty close shit, in a short space of time.”

“Yes.”

“But we haven’t – and I’m saying this because it _might_ become relevant tonight; not that it _should_ , I mean, we’ll be unlucky if it does – we haven’t needed to…” He tried to think how best to say it. “I know you carry a piece…”

“Johnny,” Frankie interrupted him. “If shit goes down, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll have your back, and I’m not gonna hesitate if I have to pull a trigger to do it.”

“Good,” Johnny grunted. “Same. I _thought_ so, but – it’s the kinda thing you gotta make certain of, you know?” He took a long drag on the cigarette and absently rubbed his hand a few times where it was resting on Frankie’s leg, slipping around his inner thigh like it was his own. “Until I get into Pretty Boy’s shop, I’m basically walking round with nothing ‘cept my dick in my hand. Once I’ve got a gun and another cell, and a fucking ride… _Shit_ , I can’t believe I had to lose the bike! I can start to find out what the fuck is going on.”

“Where did you ditch your stuff? Is there any chance the gun or the phone is still there?”

Johnny shook his head. “Didn’t have time to hide ‘em, so they probably belong to someone else by now. As long as it wasn’t the cops picked ‘em up.”

“Guess I’d better be cagey answering the phone for a little while, then…”

“Fuck. Frankie… sorry, man. You weren’t under your name; you’ll just be a number in my recent calls.”

“Don’t worry about it. My number’s all over the place anyway – I give it out to people all the time for work.”

Johnny squeezed Frankie’s thigh again as he leaned over to tap the ash off his cigarette. “I bet you’re wishin’ we never met. I come here bleeding all over you…”

Frankie dropped his hand down to touch it to Johnny’s. “No.”

“…smokin’ your cigarettes, freaking you out that I’m gonna fuckin’ die, sending you out to deal with who knows fuckin’ who so I can get high on your couch. I should pay you for those.” Johnny pulled his hand away and started to fumble in his pocket. “Did I leave my cash in the bedroom?”

“Johnny…”

“Don’t tell me not to worry, or that it doesn’t matter. Hell, I’m so sorry about all of this. When we went out the other night, I said I would never drag you into my business, and it was practically the first fuckin’ thing I _did._ ”

“You came here today because you needed to. Don’t question it.”

 _Like you did?_ Johnny thought. Something must have shown on his face, because Frankie grasped his hand again and pulled him around. He didn’t feel the twist in his ribs that it must have caused. _…least the drugs are working._

“Okay, I wasn’t exactly happy to see you on my doorstep: because you were bleeding out! But now I’m fucking glad you found my place; that you’re here and alive and not staring down a stretch in Alderney State. Call me an idiot, Johnny, but I’m not sorry we’re involved with each other.”

“You’re an idiot.” Johnny squeezed Frankie’s fingers then shook them free. “And I don’t think I wanna be having this conversation when I’m not totally straight.” He indicated the bag on the table. 

Frankie sat back. “Fair enough.”

“I gotta take a piss. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Uh-huh.”

They were going to have to finish that conversation some time, but for now Johnny was glad of an excuse.

 

When he got into the bathroom, the first thing he saw was his jacket hanging over the top of the shower screen, the wings of the LMC logo showing blurred through the toughened glass. Johnny hooked it over and examined the left arm – it was ripped apart just below the shoulder, and damp where Frankie had rinsed the blood off. He swallowed hard. That shot wasn’t the closest he’d ever come to getting ‘fridged, but it was too damn close nevertheless. He pushed two fingers through the tear, contemplating the size of it, the ragged edges… and sickening cold swept through him; a moment later he was on his knees spewing his guts up in the toilet. _Fuck._

Eventually, he got shakily to his feet and rinsed his mouth out at the sink, giving himself a hard appraisal in the mirror nailed over it. _Someone_ was going to pay for the shit that went down with the cops and the AoD’s earlier. Someone was going to get their body boxed up – he just didn’t know who, yet.

“Johnny?”

There was a knock at the door, and Johnny reached over to pull it open.

“Been fucking ages in here,” Frankie said. “Thought you’d spaced out or something.”

“The pills are makin’ me sick; they always do.” _It was half true…_

“Oh. How are you feeling now?”

Johnny leant back against the basin and gave Frankie a manic grin. “Great. Suddenly, I can’t feel a thing.”

 

***


	8. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their night out of Part 6, Frankie and Johnny end up at Frankie's apartment for the _first_ time.

As soon as the door of his apartment was safely bolted behind them, Frankie turned around and started tearing at Johnny’s clothes. “I was going to take things slow, after last time,” he growled, “but the way you’ve been looking at me all night – I just want you hard and dirty in my bed.”

“No complaints from me,” Johnny replied, pulling Frankie into a kiss as he tried to drag him down the hallway. They stumbled together through the living room, Frankie steering them into the bedroom and pushing Johnny down onto the bed without even turning on the lights.

He had the biker willingly slicked and fucked in an indecent space of time, and as they both lay spent afterwards, they swore that they _were_ going to do this more calmly in the future.

 

***

 

In the morning they were abruptly woken by the sound of gunplay from a nearby block, and sirens following it.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood,” Frankie joked.

Johnny leant over the side of the bed and felt for his discarded jeans, fishing his phone out of the pocket.

“Expecting a text?” 

“From Billy – president of the chapter. He flips his shit if I start ignoring him. He’s trying to put pressure on our turf-rivals right now, and he wants me out constantly messing their guys up.”

“The Angels of Death?”

“Yeah. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have my ass handed to me soon; those supremacist fucks know I’m coming for them, and they’re getting ready.” 

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Do you have to do what he says?”

“It’s complicated,” Johnny said. “Billy’s been there for me for a long time; kinda like a father figure, I suppose. But I don’t know what’s going on with him now – he’s using so hard, and pulling all these erratic stunts. I’ve got a bad feeling he’s gonna end up destroying The Lost… _if_ he can stay out of jail long enough to do it.”

“Sounds like he’s self-destructing.”

“And it’s gonna take out everyone around him.” Johnny frowned, tossing down the phone again. “But you don’t wanna hear all this.” He stretched and kicked the bed sheets lower, rolling onto his side so that the thin cotton skimmed over his hips, barely hiding his naked body.

Frankie couldn’t help taking a look at the view. “Wow, what’s that from?” he asked, reaching his fingers to trace down an angular scar on Johnny’s flank.

“A little souvenir of my time spent in Alderney’s premier incorrectional facility. Some asshole stuck a sharpened comb in my side.”

“And this?” Frankie patted a patchwork of pale, rough skin just below it.

“Good old fashioned road rash.”

“You’re pretty broken-up, aren’t you?” Frankie murmured. He shifted to look closer at the silvery lines, enjoying the small shiver Johnny gave when his breath met the surface of his body.

“I guess.”

Frankie tilted his head and rested his palm scant millimetres away from Johnny’s stirring cock. “Is there anything else down here for me to have a look at?”

Johnny’s breath hitched, and his hard-on firmed up fast in response to Frankie’s question. 

“Oh yeah,” Frankie whispered, smiling wickedly. “This clearly deserves some close attention.” He flipped the sheets up and away, fully exposing Johnny’s lower body to the rapidly-warming air of the room, and started running his fingers up and down his cock. Although he was barely touching it, Johnny twitched a little, involuntarily pressing himself closer into Frankie’s hand.

“So fucking hard,” Frankie told him. “Just want to suck it like you did me in the dressing room. Didn’t get a chance last night…”

“Do it,” Johnny breathed, dropping back against the pillows and flattening his hips for Frankie to lean over him.

He didn’t need inviting twice. 

Johnny still tasted of spunk, the evidence of the sex they’d already had a few hours before. Frankie liked that – knowing he could get Johnny hard and keep him coming exactly when he wanted – and he concentrated on sucking and swirling against the head until he started to taste the man’s fresh arousal against his tongue.

Johnny groaned loudly, and Frankie couldn't help being amused at his lack of volume control. It was a turn-on, too, hearing him react to every movement of his lips, every dip. When his hips started skipping up off the bed, Frankie resisted drawing back, letting Johnny’s movements spiral him even closer to the release he was desperately swearing about. 

“Oh fuck, oh sweet fucking… don’t stop… God, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come right now…”

Then Frankie did pull away, sliding up and off Johnny’s cock to leave him arching into thin air. He waited just long enough for his body to reel back from the edge and get under control again, before plunging his mouth back down and setting off a whole new barrage of expletives. He repeated the process a second time, then again, wondering how many passes he would get away with before Johnny either broke and grabbed himself or just fucking came anyway. 

More than he thought, it turned out, but Johnny was getting increasingly ragged on each one, taking gasping breaths and moaning out pleas and curses until he was nearly speechless. Achingly turned-on himself, Frankie stayed down on Johnny’s trembling cock for a split-second longer on his next thrust, pressed his tongue just a little harder as he slid up again, then sat back and watched Johnny throw his head back with a helpless _“Fuck,”_ and come hard all over himself. 

Seeing that was even hotter than fucking him had been, and Frankie’s practised hands added his own climax to the scene before Johnny had even pulled himself back together again. “You’re a fucking picture, you know that?” he asked, as Johnny stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Fucking amazing.” Then he lay down next to him and hauled the covers back over them both. They could clean up when they woke up, as far as he was concerned.

 

***


	9. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys finally go and roll over Pretty Boy's place.

They walked quickly into the parking area opposite Burger Shot on Topaz, heads down and collars up against the rain. Johnny silently indicated an Oracle tucked back in the shadows, and in seconds they were in and driving away.

“Reason #428 why you should always choose a drive-thru when you want to eat BS,” Frankie commented. “Poor local parking security.”

“Anything in here?” Johnny asked him.

Frankie had a quick scan around the interior and in the glove compartment. “Some rubbish, tickets – nothing interesting.”

“Is it too much to ask that people keep a gun handy under the seats these days? At least there’s gas in the tank.”

They fell into silence until they were over the Northwood Heights Bridge and down into Bohan’s Industrial district, where Johnny pulled up across the street from Pretty Boy’s chop shop. “That’s the place,” he said, scanning the vicinity for signs of life. The area was deserted. “The keys I’ve got are for the back, but there's probably still an alarm, so we do this fast.”

It was an easy in.

“Well, either it’s a silent alarm, or Pretty Boy is pretty fuckin’ lax about the risk of theft…” 

Johnny pulled the back door shut behind them and located the light switch there, illuminating the workshop. He made a satisfied sound on seeing a Hexer parked by the garage doors at the front. “That looks like it’s waiting to go out in the morning – means it’s road-ready and mine for the taking!”

“Where’s this guy keeping his firepower?” Frankie asked.

“Office, probably. Hopefully not in a safe…”

Frankie went over to the office, as Johnny made his way to the bike.

“Look for a cabinet, or in the desk drawers,” Johnny called over his shoulder. The key was in the bike’s ignition. “Jackpot,” he murmured. “Don’t even have to fuck around with this.”

“Okay, I got a pistol and ammo in the drawer and a shotgun under the counter.” Frankie examined the shotgun. “Loaded.”

“I’ll take both. Any money lying around?”

“That _is_ in the safe, by the looks of it. Got some keys to the garage doors hanging up here, though.”

“Shame. Just grab the keys and we’ll go out through there.” Johnny scanned around him, looking for anything else worth taking from the shop. It was mostly tools and parts left lying out; nothing of value. There were some panels leaning against the wall with the AoD logo on them, and he considered smashing them up before they left. _Fucking assholes_. It made him even happier he was turning over Pretty Boy’s place – the mechanic had always seemed further in their pocket than he was with the Lost. Pity he was the best source of bikes in Liberty… 

Frankie appeared at his side, and Johnny turned to take the pistol and the shotgun he was holding. 

“Ready?” Frankie asked.

“Yeah, if you can pull up the door to let me out. Then follow me back to Algonquin…” Johnny hesitated, “…to your place?” 

“Yes, to my place. But I’m gonna ditch the Oracle before I get there.”

Johnny swung his leg over the bike and rested his hand on the starter. “Okay.”

Frankie went to the doors and opened the padlock, leaving the keys in it and pushing up the roller until the weights took over. Then he swiftly crossed the street and jumped into the car. By the time he’d started it up, Johnny was halfway down the road, and Frankie pulled a fast three-point turn to make good his own exit. 

 

***

 

“Fucking hell,” he swore as he followed Johnny’s lights through the dark industrial park and out into the rundown streets of Bohan. He’d forgotten what a rush he got from doing this shit! It was just as powerful and sharp now as it had ever been, maybe even more so. Somehow, doing it with Johnny added an extra frisson of excitement, which he supposed was something sexual – another dimension to the adrenaline-fueled high of pulling a job. He made himself swallow the feeling while he concentrated on the road and keeping an eye out for LCPD. 

Johnny was driving fast, and after a while Frankie eased off the gas and let the car drop back; they both knew where they were going, and he preferred to stay low-key. He guessed Johnny was opening up on the Hexer to see what it could do. 

In Algonquin, Frankie pulled over as soon as he was on Galveston Avenue and left the Oracle parked with its window open. He doubted it would be there for long. Then he walked down through to his block and found Johnny waiting outside it with an expression somewhere between mischief and triumph on his face.

“Well, that went pretty good,” Johnny said. “I’ll buy a phone tomorrow, and I’m back in business.”

“Also, you need to get your arm looked at by someone who’s actually qualified,” Frankie told him. “If you die of blood poisoning… Where’s the bike?” He suddenly noticed it wasn’t around.

“It's safe. Didn’t want to leave it outside here.” 

“Wise.” 

Once they’d made their way inside, Frankie turned to him and smiled. “Speaking of safe…”

Johnny’s eyes widened as he took out a fat wad of cash. 

“Is that…? Hell, Frankie! I guessed you’d been involved in… _something_ in the past. I wasn’t going to ask what it was unless you brought it up. _Now_ I fuckin’ know! You should have said you’re good with your hands.” 

Frankie shook his head. “Don’t give me too much credit. That box was a fucking joke: standard and cheap. People have those for show, and to satisfy their insurance – they’re not hard.”

“What else can you get into?"

“Johnny…” Frankie began.

“I’m only interested. I wasn’t going to ask you to do anything with it.”

“I can get into your pants. Repeatedly.” _Because I’m just a comedian these days,_ Frankie reminded himself. _I’m not gonna start up all this again…_

_…_

_…_

_Definitely not._


	10. Lady Liberty Lied - Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes full circle.

When Frankie woke up again, the sun was bright and the air in the apartment was hot and still. He’d woken up in this bed, in this light, in this uncomfortable heat hundreds of times now. In Liberty, the weather always seemed to be hot and humid or full-on storming, with nothing in between. This was, however, the first time for a long time that there had been someone beside him. It felt strange. Not unpleasant, but unusual. Normally the kind of guys he picked up, he either fucked them in the bathroom of wherever they were at the time, or – if they did get an invitation to his place – they generally got up and left before the sun rose. He wondered why Johnny was the exception. Maybe he just didn’t have anywhere better to get back to?

Frankie wasn’t complaining. The guy definitely had something about him, and not just in bed. He’d had Frankie ever since that moment in the club when he’d addressed him from the stage; when Johnny had come right back at him, joked with him with such casual innuendo, Frankie had been hooked. He smiled ruefully at the ceiling, reminded of someone back in the UK, and of how _they’d_ caught him with exactly the same attitude. _Denim, muscles, jaw like a brick…_ He had a ‘type’, he supposed.

He glanced down as Johnny rolled over and half-reached out in front of him before opening his eyes and realising where he was. 

“Hey,” Johnny greeted him, voice rough with sleep and still so indecently sexy that Frankie wanted to go a third round right then. He resisted going straight for a kiss, though.

“Hey. It’s fucking hot in the city today by the feel of it.”

“Good. If I’ve gotta go out and kick bad-guy ass all day I want to get a tan while I’m doin’ it.”

“You want to get some breakfast first? There’s a great diner not far from here.”

Johnny stretched and ran his hands over his face. “Yeah, I could eat a cow and make a jacket.”

“Okay…” Frankie replied. “I’m going to take a shower.” He pushed the covers away and got up, looking around for where he’d last dropped a towel down in the bedroom. Having bent over to grab it, he straightened and turned to find Johnny watching appreciatively. “See something you like?” he laughed.

“Like somethin’ I see,” Johnny said.

 

In the bathroom, Frankie took a piss and then turned on the shower to cool, brushing his teeth before ducking under the spray and letting it fill his mouth and spill out. It felt good, washing the sweat and spunk out of every crease and pore, knowing he was filthy in the best of ways.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he suddenly heard over his shoulder. “You always shower this cold?” Johnny was grimacing, but stepping in with him anyway, slipping into the too-small space with surprising grace.

Frankie angled the water so it ran down the tiles for a moment, muting the sound of the spray before he turned around to slide wet hands up and around Johnny’s chest. “This is how horrific accidents happen, you know. We’ll end up trapped in here with hypothermia, and the ambulance crew’ll have to prise our stiffened corpses apart with a jack.”

“That’s a wonderful image,” Johnny told him. “Thanks.”

“You want the soap?”

“I want you to drop it.”

Frankie laughed and pulled Johnny lightly around to the side of him. “ _Really_ not enough room,” he said firmly, “but let me finish and step out and I’ll see what I can do.” 

When they’d both washed up and Frankie had retrieved the condoms from the bedroom, Johnny fucked him up against the bathroom wall, hands gripping the towel rail and fingers locked together.

As Johnny showered a second time and Frankie dragged a razor around the roughest bits of his jaw, he wondered if this too was going to become a more-than-once event. Johnny didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, and they were already sharing their morning routine like a couple. Was that what they were now? After less than a week? Part of Frankie was definitely okay with that, if that’s what was going on, but he was aware that all the things about Johnny that were making it easy to slip into this were familiarities that he thought he’d left behind a long time ago. Johnny made his living outside the law, with all the risk and random bullshit that came with it. Did he really want to get involved with that again? 

_Fuck it. I don’t know._

Frankie decided to operate on feeling and instinct for a little while – it seemed to be serving them well enough so far…

“Ah, that was fuckin’ good,” Johnny exclaimed, stepping out onto the wet floor and skimming the water from his face with his palms. “All of this.”

“Wait ‘til you taste the all-day breakfast at the local ’60 diner’, then tell me your life isn’t perfect,” Frankie challenged.

Johnny caught his eyes in the mirror and Frankie saw a flash of uncertainty pass across his face. “It’s funny,” Johnny said, hesitantly. “One half of my life… I think it’s about to get real fuckin’ perfect right now. The other half, I got a weird feeling that _all_ the shit’s about to hit the fan.”

 

***

 

***

 

***

 

Johnny swerved around the corner at the last second and nearly took out a fire hydrant; he clung on to the bike for dear life, but it worked – he heard the AoD slamvan miss the turn with a screech of brakes and crunch into a wall.

 _Okay, okay…_ He tried to think of the streets around him and where they led. It didn’t help that he could hear sirens closing in on him. That wasn’t right. _Too fast – like they were on the scene before the fight even kicked off_.

He cursed as the bike went over a stinger and slid sideways to the kerb, managing to push it away from him and scramble to his feet before the cops were on top of him. Running into an alley, he zigzagged out of their sight and tossed his phone and his gun in a dumpster, certain they were going to chase him down.

Emerging out of the other end, he found himself right next to an empty LCPD cruiser, its occupants presumably out running around trying to locate _him_.

He heard the “Stop! Police!” behind him, then a gunshot that tallied with a searing pain in his arm. Swearing profusely, Johnny leapt into the police car and fired it up. If he could just get to a Pay n' Spray, maybe he could lose the cops and AoD’s on his tail… Where was the nearest one? _Where else do I know around here?_

Wherever he was going, he needed to make it quick. He already felt sick and shaky, and it wasn’t going to get better.

 _Jesus!_ “Come on then, motherfuckers!” he screamed. “Let’s go!”

 

_-fin_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [How to get rich in four minutes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140245) by [beedekka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/pseuds/beedekka)




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